


Saturday Night

by kitsunerei88



Series: Revolutionary Arc Plus Extras [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rigel Black Series - murkybluematter, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Punk Rock, RevArc, Rigel Black Exchange, Rigelverse, The Pureblood Pretense, The Rigel Black Chronicles, The Rigel Black Series, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/pseuds/kitsunerei88
Summary: Aldon is too tense, so Alex and Neal take him out.
Relationships: Aldon Rosier & Alex Willoughby, Aldon Rosier & Neal Queenscove
Series: Revolutionary Arc Plus Extras [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722145
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Rigel Black Chronicles Appreciation, Rigel Black Exchange Round 1





	Saturday Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeatheryMinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheryMinx/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Vanguard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973080) by [kitsunerei88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/pseuds/kitsunerei88). 



Aldon lay on the ground, his face full of snow. It was March, but Queenscove was almost on the Scottish border, and it was still cold this time of the year. He was freezing, and the heat of Alex, sitting on his lower back with his blade pressed against the back of his neck, only made him so much warmer.

“Slow, Aldon,” his friend said, getting off him. “I’ve said it before, but you need to move. You do not have the luxury of slowing down and stopping to line up a shot. You have to shoot on the go, because I am faster than you.”

There was a laugh from the benches. “Look at that way he moves, Alex! His shoulders are stiff, and he’s got all the flexibility of a two-by-four. He needs to loosen up, that’s what he needs.”

Aldon got up and glared at his other friend, Neal, who was flopped over on his back on a stone bench, seemingly not worried about the cold. “I am not.”

Neal rolled over on his bench and sat up. “Right, Aldon. Just look at yourself—Alex, he moves like a wave, like water. You’re jerky, even when you clearly have a plan. Maybe you should get a massage or something.”

Aldon made a face.

“Too uptight for that?” Neal grinned. “You should try it. My brother Graeme loves them. Says they’re very relaxing.”

“I’m not uptight,” Aldon said stiffly, brushing himself off, not that there was much he could do when the mud and snow was caked into his clothing. “The fact that I am unwilling to strip down to my underclothes and lay on a table for a man or woman to rub me down does not mean that I am uptight.”

“What about sex, then?” Alex said, a small smile dancing on his lips. “Sex is, from experience, an excellent muscle relaxant.”

Aldon just glared at him.

“Definitely too uptight for that.” Neal laughed in delight. “I can’t believe you even suggested it, Alex.”

“Many people would have jumped at that barely-veiled offer.” Alex shook his head, looking away, mock disappointed. “I am very good in bed. My Hogwarts reputation was not built on nothing. In that case, I have another suggestion.”

“I hardly think I need—”

“We’re close to Glasgow here, are we not?” Alex interrupted him, looking squarely at Neal.

“About a hundred kilometers to Glasgow, yeah. And to Manchester. A bit farther to Edinburgh, and Liverpool.” Neal tilted his head. “Why, what are you thinking?”

“Glasgow. We’ll go to Glasgow.” Alex smiled, a rare broad smile that showed his canines to full effect. “It’s Saturday, and Glasgow has the best nightlife. Go clean up and get your identification. Meet back here as soon as possible.”

Neal whooped, bouncing up from his bench with his fist in the air. “Yes! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Aldon narrowed his eyes at his suspiciously. “Nightlife?” he asked, a little hesitant.

“Nightlife,” Alex confirmed. “And let’s call this an order. An _order_ , Aldon.”

“I’m sure I have work to do,” Aldon retorted coldly.

XXX

Much to his disappointment, Christie had nothing for him to do, and there were no outstanding projects that needed his attention. Nothing except the ACD project, but even that was mostly in the hands of Albert McEvoy, the Charms expert, for the moment. He was just thinking about taking the time to do a little magical theory reading of his own, but he erroneously told Christie that if Neal or Alex came calling to tell them he was certainly _not_ going out with them and… Christie thought it would be an excellent idea for him to go out with them.

“You’re so young, Aldon,” she said with a bright smile, pushing him towards the door and shoving twenty pounds in his hand. “You should be going out, meeting people and having fun right now, not reading books in your room on a Saturday night. Go, go!”

And with that, Christie shut the door in his face.

Aldon sighed, went to the emergency stairwell, and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Alex and Neal were already waiting for him in the Queenscove Great Hall, both in Muggle clothing that Aldon had to guess must be fashionable. Alex was in a long-sleeved shirt, dark jeans and a leather jacket, while Neal had opted for a sweatshirt with some sort of lizard with big teeth on it. It was a brisk, if long, walk to the edge of the Queenscove lands, where Alex Side-Along Apparated them to Glasgow.

The city was dark, the streets dirtier than what Aldon was used to in London. The squat, low-lying buildings, only a few floors high, seemed to loom over him. The upper floors were old, classic in design, but were dark with grime. The main floors seemed like a completely separate building, with bright, glowing signs casting coloured reflections on the streets. The language around them was still English, but spoken with such a strong accent that Aldon only caught one word in three.

A large part of him considered Apparating home, but Alex had swung an arm over his shoulders, tugging him forward.

“Last time I was here, I found a great bar,” Alex said lightly, Neal on his other side. “Live music, dance floor, and free-flowing drinks.”

“All of those sound great to me,” Neal replied with a wistful note in his voice. “Almost like being home. Montreal, home, I mean. Without my brothers, but I guess the two of you will have to be close enough.”

“The sentiment is appreciated, but considering most of my siblings are dead, you probably don’t want to be one of them. Here we are.” Alex pushed them towards a door, and Aldon could hear the music blasting through the doors already. A guitar, a little like he had heard John playing at Grimmauld Place, but louder, more aggressive, more static-fueled than anything John had ever played at Grimmauld Place. The sound beat in his chest, pounding, making it difficult to breathe. When Alex opened the door, a wall of noise hit him in the face, and he almost staggered. It was a mess—it sounded like a mess.

Neal grinned. “I like your taste,” he said, waltzing into the dimly lit box. “This is pretty awesome.”

 _Awesome_ was not the word Aldon would have used as Alex pushed him into the bar. The wood-panelled walls were old, with dust and grime in the cracks between panels, and a brief touch of the bannister beside the three steps leading into the main floor was sticky. His boots seemed to stick to the floor, and if he could hear anything, he bet that he would hear a squeak as he walked, too. He didn’t want to touch anything.

“I ordered us three pints!” Neal yelled, two pints in hand as he motioned them to a small, standing table at the edge of the dance floor. Most of the small space, Aldon saw, was in fact a dance floor, and not one that he understood. It was packed, people jumping and shoving each other with enthusiasm, all while the driving beat of the music deafened them. There was none of the order of a proper dance floor, and he couldn’t find the beat.

No, that was a lie. He could find the beat easily, because it was pounding in his chest, even if he didn’t understand it. There was a method to the madness, Aldon observed, grabbing at the third pint that a server dropped off for them. He needed a drink, even if beer was weak. There was a tune in the music, though the singer just seemed to be screaming into a microphone, and the floor was shaking.

“I’m going in,” Alex said, shucking off his jacket and throwing it towards Neal. “Hold my jacket.”

“Bossy, isn’t he?” Neal yelled over the music, setting the jacket on the table. “If you want to join him, you can—I like a good moshpit myself, but I want a few drinks in me first.”

“What’s a moshpit?” Aldon took a big drink of his beer. “And what the hell is this _music?_ ”

Neal tilted his head, thinking about it for far longer than Aldon thought was really necessary. “The shredding there and that guitar solo is all metal, but based on the lyrics about corruption, I’m going to say punk. And the moshpit is… hmm, most of the dance floor right now. If it’s your first one, you’ll want to be careful. No one will really hurt you, but the first punch can be a little unexpected.”

“Punch?” Aldon grimaced and took another drink of beer. “I do not like being punched.”

“Well, you get to hit them back, so it’s fine.” Neal grinned, raising his own pint to his lips. “I broke my rib in my first moshpit, you know? I was fourteen, and Graeme took both Will and I to a show. Will was like you, all stand-offish and far too good for it. He watched our stuff while Graeme pulled me in. I fell, got trampled a little before someone picked me up. Papa was furious, but Mama laughed it off.”

“You miss them,” Aldon observed, wondering how Neal even heard him over the music. He could barely hear Neal.

“Of course.” Neal looked away, back at the moshpit. “They’re my family.”

Aldon nodded, though he didn’t think he really understood. The closest thing he had had to family was Ed, Ed and Alice, and the two of them had always come with a complicated nest of feelings including his own feelings towards Ed and mixed annoyance, resignation, and friendship towards Alice. He missed them, but in a way, he had put them behind him. He sipped at his pint, thinking, the eddies of loud, furious music flowing around him.

Now, he supposed he had Christie, and he had Neal, and there was Alex. And there was Francesca, over the ocean, even if she still wouldn’t talk to him. Having left everything behind, he sometimes thought he had found more, but no one in his new life knew much about his old one. Francesca listened, but she was American; Neal was just Neal, always accepting and moving forward. Alex, he had only befriended in his sixth and seventh years, after he and Ed had stopped having so many classes together and when he was already questioning, and Christie hadn’t been in his life at all until he had been disowned. No one had a line connecting to his childhood, and few could even relate to it. Things were different, and there was much that Aldon missed about it.

The music died down, evidently the end of a song, as the lead man on the stage opened a bottle of water and took a swig. Alex melted out of the crowd, panting slightly and covered in sweat, most of it not his own. Aldon never thought he would ever see the dhampir panting, because he always seemed to be fine even after the hardest runs or training sessions. Alex reached for the third pint on the table, throwing it back and finishing all of it in one long drink, gulp after gulp after gulp.

Neal glared at him, eyes narrowing, before he lifted his remaining half-pint and finishing off his beer in the same way. “Was that supposed to be a challenge, Alex?”

“Chugging a half-pint is nothing, Neal,” Alex said, setting his glass back down and turning to Aldon. “So?”

“I’m getting another one. Take him out on the floor with you, Alex,” Neal ordered, as the music started again. “He’s thinking too much, and I want to enjoy myself without watching him stress.”

“Will do,” Alex said agreeably, turning to Aldon and looking down at his half-pint. “Let’s go, man. Chug your beer and in we go.”

“I really am not—”

“If you don’t go into the pit with me, I’ll double your training for the next three days.”

Aldon hastily picked up his beer, chugged it, and let Alex drag him into the moshpit.

It was uncomfortable, too warm, in the middle of the pit. The music was even louder, closer to the giant, black boxes, and he could almost see the sound, vibrating in the air over the crowd. There were too many people, surging forward and around him, and it smelled of spilled beer and sour sweat. There was a man, jumping in the centre of the crowd, wearing a wolf mask and howling in tune to the music, bare from the waist up. A woman was shoved into him, falling on him, her hair streaked in pink and purple, but Alex simply grabbed her, keeping her from falling, and pushed her in another direction.

Someone shoved him, and he flailed his arms, reaching for Alex who grabbed him and kept him upright, twisting to body check the other person back onto the crowd. Aldon felt like a billiard ball, being pushed around a table against his will, bouncing off other hard obstacles, completely out of control. People were touching him, sweat dripping on him and ruining his shirt and waistcoat.

“Don’t worry,” Alex said, panting directly in Aldon’s ear. “I got you, and no one in a moshpit is really going to hurt you. Just let yourself go, enjoy yourself.”

Aldon had no idea how Alex thought he was supposed to enjoy himself in this—this travesty that called itself dancing.

It was not dancing. Dancing was elegant, and beautiful, and ordered. This was chaotic, a disorganized mess, and there were no orderly steps like in dance. Aldon did not want to feel other people’s sweat on him, to feel their hands on him, to smell the scent of alcohol permeating the air or to hear the almost ritualistic chanting swelling around him. It bled into him, rustling in his chest, and he didn’t like it.

He didn’t like it.

Someone fell into him, and this time Aldon shoved him back. The man let out a whoop, letting himself bounce in a different direction, and all of a sudden, Aldon was in it, a part of one massive, many-armed whole. Someone pushed into him, and he shoved them back, and someone pushed him in a different direction. He was annoyed, and he was angry, and the lead singer on stage was screaming something about government corruption and alienation and being left behind.

Those were sentiments that Aldon could get behind. One song, two songs, and he was in the middle of it, Alex never more than an arm’s reach away. A few more songs, and he spotted Neal in the crowd too, an expression of sweaty joy on his face as he leapt on top of the crowd, letting many hands carry him to the front. It was only an instant, before he was distracted by the pounding beat of the music and another person being thrown into him, under whose weight he staggered before pushing them back. Alex was behind him, the entire time, keeping him upright and his feet on the ground.

Alex was behind him, so Aldon let himself go. The music was loud, but it thrummed in his blood, becoming a part of him, and he threw himself back into the pit.

He didn’t know how much time passed. Time went by in songs, and it had to have been an hour, maybe two, and when the music finally stopped. The silence, which wasn’t true silence, only that after so much noise everything seemed quiet, rang out around him as people slowly found their friends and trickled out, laughing.

Aldon turned around, panting. He didn’t want to think about the state of his clothing, yet, or about how his hair was in total disarray, or about how incredibly improper he must look. There was something in the room, something slowly bleeding out of the time and space, something that had happened on the sticky dance floor that he didn’t think he could ever explain to anyone. He hadn’t been himself, there, but someone else—someone who had been a part of a whole, someone who hadn’t cared so much who saw him, or what anyone thought of him. Someone who trusted his gut instincts, who didn’t rely so heavily on his thoughts.

“That feeling, there?” Alex said, looking him over with an amused glint in his eye. “That is what I want to see from you in the lists.”

Aldon laughed, and he didn’t think he had ever heard such a relaxed, carefree noise come from him his entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is wondering, Neal's sweatshirt has a dinosaur on it. Aldon just doesn't know what dinosaurs are.


End file.
